Catching Fire: The Boy With The Bread
by regpeg
Summary: Catching Fire from Peeta's perspective.


**Guys I am finally back! I'm sorry I was literally gone for almost two years I'm pretty sure but here I am! I just want to get back into writing more! So here is Catching Fire. As always, everything belongs to Suzanne Collins. I do not own the plot, dialogue, characters or anything else. It's just written in Peeta's POV. So enjoy!**

Chapter 1

I find myself almost therapeutically making food in the spacious stone oven. My family has decided to stay in our old house, leaving me to live in the Victor's Village alone. Of course, there is Haymitch and Katniss, if that counts for anything. Haymitch has been in a drunken haze the last few months but I just leave him be. He kept me alive; the least I can do is let him make his own choices.

Today is the day. Today is the day that all the people from the Capitol will show up. My prep team with prod and poke, molding me to look how they want, and then Portia, my stylist, will provide finishing touches and give me my clothes. Katniss will be in her own house going through the same thing: transforming from something natural to a figment of the Capitol.

Katniss. The thought of her pulls up a dreadful tightness in my chest that I try to ignore. I've been pushing away the thought of her all summer. We haven't talked much. At all, really. It's just to awkward, too painful. I don't want to think of what she told me. None of it was real and I'm left here alive because she was making a statement, nothing more.

Effie is sure to arrive with everyone else. I'm sure her hair will be piled on top of her head sporting the usual unnatural hue that the Capitol makes a habit of. I know that once the cameramen and other workers arrive, I'll have no time to myself and I will, by default, be forced to spend time with Katniss.

I've been mentally preparing myself for days, even weeks. I've been preparing myself for looking into those eyes that once held what I thought was love, but now they only hold guilt and pity. I avoid her now due to the embarrassment I feel when she looks at me that way.

I try and keep my mind quiet as I continue with the rhythm I've developed. Knowing I will have to wake Haymitch soon, and get him ready for the cameras, I decide to make him the kind of bread he likes. I knead it with my hands, slightly hard than necessary. Eventually I find myself waiting for everything to finish baking and I'm left with nothing to do. These are the times that are hardest: when I have nothing to preoccupy me.

Katniss isn't usually here much so when I hear the crunch of gravel outside, I turn and walk to the window. I can make out the frame of her as she is walking down the street, presumably getting back from hunting. I can spot her silhouette shrinking disappearing when I hear the ding of a timer, bringing me back to reality.

I take the bread out, wrapping it in the usual crisp paper that manages to keep the heat in. I pull it under my arm and grab a jacket pulling it on. Lately, it's been cooler. Fall is upon us and I brace myself for the cold. I go outside and I can feel the slight bitter sting of the cold and I push through it, rubbing my hands together.

I make my way down the street toward Haymitch's house and I can see that there are no lights on. Within Katniss' and my house I can see separate glows of warmth but Haymitch's looks empty and neglected. I come face to face with his door and mentally prepare myself, knowing the alcohol-induced fumes that are sure to fill his home.

As I turn the doorknob I hear Haymitch's yelp of protest. The toxic air in his home surrounds me, stale and suffocating.

I can hear Katniss' voice and I can feel my pulse quicken slightly as I hear my name. "Look, if you wanted to be babied, you should have asked Peeta."

I follow the hallway that mirrors the floor plan of my home and enter the kitchen, spotting Haymitch sat at the table, soaking wet, surrounded by bottles. "Asked me what?" I can see the muscles in Katniss' leather-clad back tighten when I speak and my stomach clenches slightly.

She doesn't say anything for a minute as I cross the room. I place the loaf I am holding on the table and turn to look at Haymitch, who's glaring between the two of us. Finally Haymitch growls out, "Asked you to wake me without giving my pneumonia." He hands me his knife and I get it wet with a bottle of something on the floor. Who knows what was previously residing on his knife. I wipe it clean with the end of my shirt and begin cutting.

As I cut the bread, Haymitch rips off his foul shirt, only to have an even worse one underneath. He tries, and fails, to pat himself dry with the shirt only to give up when he sees it's doing nothing. I hand Haymitch the first piece of bread, which he accepts and immediately starts eating. Then I breath in deeply before turning to Katniss. It's the first time I've looked at her in what seems like forever. "Would you like a piece?"

She keeps eye contact with me as she shakes her head, then looks back down. "No, I ate at the Hob, but thank you." It's one of the first exchanges we've had in a while and I feel like there's a wall between us. Our words are forced, our movements stiff.

"You're welcome," I say, turning away from her. I want to leave and get away from the suffocating silence between us but I stay anyway.

It's silent for a moment before Haymitch finishes his bread, chiming in, "Brrr. You two have got a lot of warming up to do before showtime." We both know it but I flinch a bit anyway. A few short hours from now, we'll be presenting ourselves as the star-crossed lovers from District 12 who spent the whole summer together, rather than the two of us who can barely make eye contact.

Katniss ignore his statement, shooting him a glare. "Take a bath, Haymitch." I almost crack a smile when she says that but I refrain. She turns around and hops out the window that faces her house before walking towards her door. I keep my eyes on her for a moment before turning back to Haymitch.

"Well what are we gonna do about her? She's hardly passing as Capitol's sweetheart." He adorns what almost looks like a smile but I can tell from his eyes that it's not genuine. He seems to be looking at me with pity and I try to pretend I can't see it.

"Oh, she's always been a good actor. But she's right you know. You may need a bath before the cameras show," I say, wrinkling my nose slightly. He grimaces, as if noticing the smell for the first time.

"You guys might be right…" He stands up, stretching his arms upward before turning away, towards the stairs. "Now if you don't mind, I'll go do that right now." And he makes his way up the stairs, leaving me standing in a smelly room next to a pile of empty bottles.


End file.
